


i find it hard to believe you don't know the beauty you are

by dekimasen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adorable Georgie Denbrough, Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Angst, Aromantic Asexual Mike Hanlon, Attempt at Humor, Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bodyswap, Dick Jokes, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Being Idiots, Eddie Kaspbrak has a Potty Mouth, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Fluff and Angst, Georgie Denbrough Lives, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentioned Pennywise (IT), Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Multi, Rated T for Trashmouth (IT), Richie Tozier has a Potty Mouth, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier's Trashmouth, Sex Jokes, The Losers Club Are Not Heterosexual (IT), and also an abundance of swearing, because im awful, can u tell how much i love mike, it goes about how youd expect, no beta we die like men, slight reference to chapter 2 at the end, sorta - Freeform, theyre around 15 i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dekimasen/pseuds/dekimasen
Summary: I'll be your mirrorReflect what you are, in case you don't knowI'll be the wind, the rain and the sunsetThe light on your door to show that you're home(Or, the Reddie bodyswap au that no one asked for, but i wrote anyway).
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	i find it hard to believe you don't know the beauty you are

**Author's Note:**

> this is more self indulgent than anything, really.
> 
> this was originally going to be a stenbrough fic, but i couldn’t figure out what i should do with bill’s stutter in that situation, so i gave up and went “fuck it, reddie would provide more chaos anyway.”
> 
> alternate title: i found this prompt on tumblr at 4am and thought it was a good idea at the time and now i’m making myself write something for it
> 
> if anyone wants the stenbrough version, just lemme know and i might write a short thing for that
> 
> (though it's unconfirmed as to whether a stutter is mental or physical, so i may need to take a vote on who ends up having it)
> 
> enjoy general fuckery and my inability to write

_ Monday; Or, relatively normal milkshake date in terms of the usual loud arguments. _

"This is pretty fuckin' chill considering all the shit that happened last summer," Richie shrugs, stuffing a fry into his mouth and watching gleefully as Eddie grimaces beside him.

"You didn't even wash your hands before touching those. That's _ disgusting _ ." Eddie complains. Richie pretends he doesn't hear him, licks his fingers, and goes right back to pulling out more fries to eat.

Eddie gags, scooting another inch away from him in the booth.

To their left, Bill and Stan are staring at them like they've gone crazy, while across from them Beverly is beside herself with laughter and Ben is too busy ogling at Bev's laugh to comprehend what they're talking about.

Bill finally breaks the silence. "So you're saying," He raises a shaky finger towards Richie, who gives him finger guns and wipes his hands on his shirt (Eddie gags again). "that you're R-Richie," he turns to face Eddie next, who is trying to force napkins into Richie's hands. "and y-you-you're Eddie."

"Spot on, Billiam!" Richie exclaims loudly, spewing bits of fry from his mouth as he wiggles his eyebrows (which looked very disturbing on Eddie's face). "Yowza, Big Bill, I should pay you to do all my tests 'cause you're a real genius 'f I do say so myself."

Stan's eye twitches involuntarily. "I don't think they're lying. Eddie wouldn't talk with his mouth full if you paid him." He mutters, staring down at the milkshake in front of him. "But why aren't you freaking out? It's not even happening to me and  _ I'm _ freaking out!" His eyes dart back up to gawk at them as if they're insane—which, in all fairness, is entirely justified.

"I don't think it's that weird considering we fought a shape shifting clown that fed off of fear and lived in the sewer last year," says Ben, finally taking his eyes off Beverly to contribute to the conversation. The redheaded girl is about to snort her milkshake out through her nose with how aggressively she's laughing.

Eddie yanks Richie's glasses off his face for the hundredth time and wipes the lenses on his shirt, prompting Richie to snort behind his hand. "Geez, Eds, I don't think those things have ever been that clean."

"Don't call me Eds," Eddie retorts, glaring heavily at him—or maybe he's squinting to see him better, which won't work. Richie's eyesight is horrendous—before returning his now mandatory spectacles to his face. Richie's fucking face.

"This is sti-still insane." Bill mutters, rubbing the sides of his head in slow circles. "They're giving me a headache."

"There goes the triple date I guess." Bev speaks between giggles, her face pink from laughter. Ben seems to have gone back to admiring her, which means at least one member of the Losers club is still marginally sane.

Richie shrugs. "It's weird being so fuckin' short. I haven't used the bathroom yet but I bet his dick is even shorter than—"

Eddie elbows him hard in the side and Richie chokes momentarily on the fries in his mouth. Tears form at the corners of Beverly's eyes as her euphoria increases tenfold.

Richie excuses himself from the table to get something, and they sit quietly for a couple minutes, munching on overly salted fries and sipping milkshakes that are practically liquified sugar. Stan drums his fingers on the table to the beat of the song playing in the diner.

_ "...But if you don't, let me be your eyes, a hand in your darkness, so you won't be afraid. When you think…" _

"Hey Eds," Richie chirps as he returns to the group and slides into the booth. "wanna share a milkshake?" He asks, holding up a large strawberry milkshake with two straws.

"Here we go.." Stan murmurs, scooting closer to Bill and getting ready to leave the booth and move across the diner when the fighting begins.

Eddie stares at him for a second, slowly eyes the straws, then gags three times in succession.

"Do you have  _ any _ idea how  _ disgusting _ human mouths are? And a ton of saliva and backwash can travel down through straws, so you'd basically be spitting in each other's mouths. Plus the  _ AIDs  _ epidemic is still going around right now—and I don't trust anyone who can't fucking wash his hands before eating something—!"

Mid rant, completely disregarding Ben's pleading face, Richie sucks some of the milkshake up into his straw, aims, and spits it at Eddie.

There's silence for a moment. Beverly stops laughing, and the only thing they can hear is the soft 60s music still playing in the background and the muffled chatter of the other people in the diner.

"What," Eddie begins dangerously, his hands shaking as the gears in his head turn to figure out what just happened. "the fuck."

Richie lets out a snort, then covers his mouth as Eddie turns around quickly to glare at him. Momentarily, Richie acknowledges how large his eyes look in those glasses and wonders how anyone can take him seriously.

Eddie inhales, and Stan and Bill take this as their cue, grabbing Ben and Bev by the arms and pulling them to an empty booth as far from Richie and Eddie as possible.

As soon as they sit down, the yelling begins.

"THAT IS  _ SO  _ UNSANITARY—"

Stan sighs, looking over the back of his seat at his friends. Eddie is still screaming and Richie is keeled over on the floor, holding his stomach as he cackles loudly, pausing to draw in deep breaths before wheezing again.

"How long do you think we have until they get kicked out?" He wonders aloud, turning to face Bill. His boyfriend raises a brow, briefly glances at Richie and Eddie, then looks down at his watch.

"Ten."

Stan knits his brows together in confusion. "Ten what?" 

"Nine."

He snorts, although he has a sneaking suspicion that Bill isn't wrong as an angry looking waitress makes her way over to their previous booth. Beverly shakes her head bemusedly. “Nah, if anyone can bullshit their way to victory it’s Richie. They won’t get kicked out.”

“Bet you fi-five bucks you’re wrong.” Bill's mouth curls into a smirk .

The redhead quirks a brow in challenge. “You’re on, Bill.”

"We don't know them!" Ben says helpfully to the people who are glancing between the two screaming teenagers and their friends.

Bill leans back against the seat. "Even when they're in each other's b-bo-bod-bo—" He grimaces. Stan nods reassuringly, letting him know he understands and coaxing a small smile from the other boy. "—they still ca-can't stop fighting."

" _ Tell _ me about it." Beverly groans, sipping from her milkshake and swallowing before continuing. "It was even weirder this morning though. Ed— _ Richie  _ caught me on the way here and asked if I had a cigarette.” She shakes her head, short red curls falling in her eyes. “I got so startled I fell off my bike.”

  
  
Bill unsuccessfully stifles a snort behind his hand at the visual.

Stan voices the concern they all have, but are too afraid to mention for fear the words would make it real.

"What if it's  _ It _ again?"

The table falls silent.

Bill shakes his head, taking Stan's hand in his own, running a soothing thumb over his knuckles. "It's no-not. We stopped it, remember?"

This doesn't help his anxiety one bit, but he makes sure to take a deep breath for the sake of his friends.

“I know, sorry.” He says a little softer. Ben gives him a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I still get scared when I look at the walls of my room for too long.” The shorter boy fixes his gaze to a napkin, determinedly avoiding eye contact. “Everything up there all ties back to..”

  
  
Ben shrugs. The  _ “you get the idea” _ is wordlessly conveyed.

  
  
Beverly squeezes Ben’s shoulder, and he visibly relaxes immediately. She tends to have that effect on him. On all of the Losers, really.

  
  
Stan silently chews on a few more fries just as Richie and Eddie are kicked from the diner, rolling his eyes. “T-Told you,” says Bill smugly, and Bev sighs as she hands him a few crumpled dollar bills.   
  
-

_ Tuesday; Or, peaceful movie night at the Denbrough house, if not for one Richie Tozier. _

“We’re not w-watching fucking  _ S-St-Star Wars _ again!” Bill yells over the noise, swiping at Richie who is standing on the couch and refusing to relinquish his hold on the remote. It’s a lot harder to hold it above everyone’s heads when he’s suddenly the shortest of the group.

  
  
Richie laughs loudly, still waving the remote in the air. “Dunno what this  _ S-St-Star Wars _ is that you’re talkin’ about Billiam, but I’m just putting on a great movie.” Bill glares at him, jumping on the couch and attempting to physically wrestle the remote from his grip. Richie’s cackles turn hysterical, and never has he ever heard Eddie laugh this hard, and he’s very much enjoying every second. It's high pitched and squeaking at random, and Richie finds it absolutely wonderful.

Beverly, Ben and Mike seem to be getting a kick out of this; all three are clutching their stomachs and leaning on each other for support. Even Stan has a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

"We watched Star Wars the last six times we had a movie night, I'm not gonna sit through that again!" Eddie stands, triumphantly using his increased height to snatch the remote from Richie's grasp.

"Hey—!" Richie manages to cry out before he's tackled to the floor by Bill, who's yelling at Eddie to change the channel.

Richie raises a brow. "Well now Billy boy, if you wanted to be on top of me you could'a just said so—"

"Okay, no. You're disgusting." Stan grimaces, pulling Bill off of him and glaring at Richie. The other boy only laughs harder, breaking into a coughing fit.

Eddie flicks between channels, finally settling on  _ Where The Red Fern Grows _ and quickly throwing the remote down the hallway before Richie can get to it.

Richie, clearly disappointed, groans loudly. "A fuckin' dog movie? That's lame as shit! Everyone knows the dog always dies at the end."

Mike shushes him, eagerly staring at the screen and failing to notice as Bev steals gummy bears from the bag in his lap. "We know, Richie. But they're usually pretty good. Better than  _ Star Wars _ for the hundredth time, anyway." He says softly, holding a pillow against his torso.

Richie grumbles, crossing his arms and messing with the zipper on Eddie's fanny pack (which Eddie all but physically forced him into carrying around). These movies are so predictable, it's impossible not to fall asleep.

-

By the time the movie is over, Richie has to excuse himself to the bathroom so he can aggressively wipe away his tears.

He returns to the room with obviously red-rimmed eyes, but it appears that everyone else has also been crying.

Mike squeezes a couch pillow tightly and stares determinedly at the ceiling fan, Beverly sniffles softly and tightens a blanket around herself, Ben appears deep in thought, probably thinking about his own dog, Bill and Stan are fully silent, but holding each other comfortingly.

Eddie was the only one who seemed sad, but entirely devoid of tears.

"The fuck?" Richie asks, waving a hand in front of Eddie's face. "Are you having a stroke, Eds? You're usually such a baby about these things."

Eddie glares and smacks his arm, but shrugs. "I knew what was coming, so I took off your glasses so I couldn't see and covered my ears."

He snorts. "Lucky bastard."

It's at that moment that they hear a stifled sob from behind the couch.

Bill's head snaps up immediately as he scrambles to stand up, peeking over the back of the couch.

He then sighs in relief and frowns deeply. "Ge-Georgie, what are you doing in here?"

His little brother pouts, hugging his legs and tucking his knees up under his chin. "I wanted to watch with you."

Bill and Stan share a look, and Stan nods and shoo's the rest of the Losers from the room.

Bill sits down on the floor beside Georgie, and the small boy clings to his arm and cries quietly.

"Why'd they hurt the puppy, Billy?" He asks with wide eyes, and  _ God, _ Stan thinks,  _ that face is heartbreaking. _

"It's j-just a movie, Georgie." Bill reassures. "The puppy didn't r-re-really get hurt."

Georgie sniffles and nods, and Stan smiles fondly as Bill hugs him. He squats to Georgie's level. "We can go get ice cream, if it'll make you feel better." He offers.

The eight year old's face immediately lights up, and he nods excitedly. Bill chuckles. "Ice cream i-is like his m-magic word."

Stan stumbles back as Georgie tackles him with a hug, and Bill snorts amusedly. "Don't kill him, Georgie."

"Can we keep him?" Georgie asks, childlike innocence shining in his eyes. Stan flushes pink nonetheless.

Bill, blushing a bit himself, chews the inside of his cheek and meets Stan's eyes. "Yeah. Yeah we can."

-

_ Wednesday; Or, Eddie Kaspbrak's complete lack of general coordination. _

Running down the stairs of Ben's house in an elaborate race against his friends to the bottom, Eddie trips over his feet halfway down and tumbles.

"You okay?" Mike asks when he reaches the ground floor soon after, being careful not to be too rough as he pulls him to his feet. The boy's eyes flit around, checking exposed parts of his limbs for bruises and deeming him uninjured before letting go.

"Geh." Eddie replies intelligently, rubbing the bridge of his nose where Richie's glasses had been crudely pushed into his face during his graceful descent.

Beverly, Ben and Bill rush down soon after, followed by Stan and Richie (albeit less hastily).

"Holy  _ shit  _ Eds!" Richie exclaims, eyes lit up with amusement. "You gotta do that again, that was  _ insane _ ."

"Fuck you." Eddie coughs out, leaning against the stairwell and catching his breath.

Stan rolls his eyes so hard that Bill is mildly concerned they might fall right out of his head. "He could've gotten hurt, you idiot." He scolds, squinting and stepping closer.

"I don't need you pulling the  _ "Dad Friend" _ shit on me, Stan—" Stan does not listen, rolling up Eddie's sleeve past his elbow and revealing a large, bleeding scrape.

" _ See _ ." Stan gestures to the scrape to accentuate his point. Eddie pouts and smacks his hand away.

"That's an open wound." He states bluntly, staring at it like it's going to bite him.

"Just get a band-aid," Richie shrugs. "That's what I always do when I've got pretty bad scrapes."

Bill frowns. "Band-aids can't f-fix everything, Richie."

"Sure they can!" Richie says blithely. "Like, one time I broke my wrist, and I put a band-aid on it, and it got better on its own!"

Beverly doesn't know if she should be impressed or concerned. "Rich, that's not how that works." She casts a worried glance towards Richie's wrist, checking for signs that it might still be broken.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital?" Mike cuts in, warily eyeing Richie as if he's going to attack him with band-aids should he ever get injured.

Richie appears to ponder this, then shrugs. "'Cos I could've fixed it myself."

Ben blinks once. Twice.

"Yeah, I'm getting the hydrogen peroxide." He shoo's Richie out of the way and pulls Eddie along to the bathroom.

-

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ben asks as soon as they're alone, rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

Eddie sits on the counter, narrowly avoiding falling into the sink. "'M fine."

Ben looks back for one second, gives him a perfectly conveyed " _ Are you kidding me? _ " look, then turns back to the cabinet and grabs the small medicine kit.

"You know I wasn't talking about the scrape." He says, and Eddie's expression turns sour as he directs his glare at a towel hanging on the wall.  _ Fuck you, towel. _

Ben gently moves his arm and pours the hydrogen peroxide over it. Eddie hisses at the pain, and Ben's face twists into an apologetic frown. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Ben." Eddie reminds himself not to lose his temper, because this is  _ Ben _ , not Richie, and Ben's not the type of person to make fun of him for opening up. Or make fun of anyone. Ever.

He sighs out through his nose, looking over his shoulder into the mirror.

He keeps his eyes trained on Ben, looking for a band-aid big enough now that the wound is cleaned, then slowly brings his eyes up to meet his own reflection. Except, really, it's not his own.

Instead of Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier stares back at him, eyes comically wide even with his glasses already magnifying them. Freckles are few and far between, a contrast to Eddie's seemingly hundreds of freckles dotting his skin.

He huffs, averting his gaze.

"No, I'm not."

Ben sifts through the band-aids of varying sizes. "Well, that's a given, but why?"

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, then stops when he remembers it's not his to bite. "It's just so  _ weird _ . I can't even try and forget about it, because every time I stand up I'm reminded that Richie's approximately twenty feet taller than any human should be."

Ben is polite enough to hold in his laughter at that last remark. "I'm pretty sure Richie's having a hard time too."

Eddie snorts derisively. "Yeah. Sure. That asshole's been having the time of his life cracking jokes and generally being a complete ass like usual."

The shorter boy sighs softly and sticks a band-aid to Eddie's elbow. "You haven't noticed, then."

He raises a brow. "Noticed what?"

Ben places the medicine kit back in the cabinet. "He's been really careful. I mean, not  _ insanely _ , like you—no offense—but didn't you notice when he was the last person to reach the bottom of the stairs?"

Eddie frowns. "What are you—"

"I'm  _ saying _ ," Ben folds his arms in front of him. "That Richie's trying to be careful because he's scared of giving you an asthma attack."

Eddie promptly blinks like a deer in the headlights. " _ What _ ?"

"Yeah. He came up and asked me if I knew how inhalers worked yesterday." Ben continues, leaning back against the counter and finally meeting his eye. "Which, it's not that hard to figure out, but he wanted to make sure just in case."

Eddie looks down at his shoes—Which are Richie's shoes, because his own wouldn't fit him.

"How much of an asshole do I have to be to not notice that?" He wonders aloud.

Ben instantaneously shakes his head. "Don't call yourself that."

"It's true," Eddie retorts. "I just automatically assume he does everything to annoy me. Which, that isn't exactly wrong, but he's  _ trying _ and I didn't even—" He inhales, grip on the edge of the counter tightening.

"It's just hard." He frowns. "I actually want to see him, hear his dumb fucking jokes in his own voice. But I can't have that unless I myself say them, or look in the mirror."

Ben nods sympathetically. "I'd say I get that, but, you know."

Eddie almost snorts. "It could've been you and Bev that got in this situation rather than us, you know."

The shorter boy turns pink. Eddie laughs, sudden and loud, almost startling himself with the sound.

"Could be worse," Ben says in a soft, innocent tone, though the mischievous glint in his eye betrays him. "You could have switched places with Greta Keene."

Eddie flushes an offensively bright shade of red and tells him to shut the fuck up. Ben laughs all the way back to the living room.

-

  
  


_ Thursday; Or, the mental breakdown that someone had to have, where someone ended up being Richie. _

Richie is sure he can handle everything.

One of his closest friends dropping him very publicly and getting him pushed out of his safe place? Sure. Murderous shapeshifting clown that eats kids and has a shit ton of teeth? Fine and dandy. Realizing he might be literally head over fucking heels in love with his best friend?

Wait, _ fuck _ .

Richie knows he likes guys, hell, he'd spent enough time bullying himself over it in middle school to eventually figure out that it wasn't a phase, and wasn't going away any time soon. Girls are pretty, and he really admires them, but  _ holy shit _ , some guys are  _ so _ much prettier than girls.

Like, for example, Mike's pretty; He's got that intelligent sort of air around him. Ben is adorable. Stan is kind of nerdy, but Richie would be a liar if he didn't admit he's handsome. Bill has charm, and no matter how much he denies it, his stutter is damn cute.

Eddie, however, is a whole different story.

Richie finds himself staring in the mirror, staring at the freckles splashed across his nose and around his forehead and chin, trying to count them. Drawing imaginary lines between them to make constellations. The gentle slope of his button nose that he can't help fathoming, running his finger down the bridge as if imagining someone is skiing down it. Deep brown eyes, the edges of which crinkle up with his bright, lopsided smile. Hair that curls at the end, tickling his nose if he messes it up and lets it fall in his face.

_ Fuck _ , Richie's  _ screwed. _

More than anything, though, he's scared.

Eddie already knows how he feels—Richie would be shocked if he didn't, really. He's had this sort of "hypothetical" conversation with him before. (A heartbreaking conversation, where Eddie had looked up at him with those big, sad brown eyes and asked "Aren't you afraid of getting sick?" in such a small voice that Richie had to bite back a sob.)

He trembles, gripping the sink. His hands grow clammy.

Eddie's not like that. He has to remind himself that he shouldn't be afraid of telling him anything. Eddie's his best friend, and he probably wouldn't even care if Richie told him what he felt for him. None of the Losers would care. Bill and Stan have each other, Bev had introduced them to her aunt and her wife, and Mike confided in them that he didn't particularly feel romantic feelings towards  _ anyone _ . So what makes him so scared?

He knows they won't treat him any different, so why is his heart pounding? Why can he hear the blood rushing in his ears like a fucking tsunami in his head? Why does he think it's going to end up exactly like Con—

He buries his face in his hands.

"Because I love him," he says in a voice so soft his own ears almost don't pick up on it. "Because I love Eddie Kaspbrak, and that changes everything, because he doesn't love me back."

Richie breathes out shakily, removing his hands from his face and scrunching his face into a puzzled look when he finds droplets on his palms. Then another falls, hitting his shirt and creating a small dark spot as the fabric absorbs it.

He raises a finger to his cheek, and it comes back damp.

Tears.

-

  
  


_ Friday; Or, Eddie Kaspbrak has his gay awakening quite literally smacked into his skull, but this isn't written in his POV. _

"Okay," Beverly says, holding her hands up placatingly. "Let me try  _ one _ more thing."

"If you're about to suggest they talk about their feelings, you might as well give up now. Richie has the emotional capacity of a pistachio." Stan remarks, his eyes not moving from the book in his hands. Richie flips him the bird.

"Jokes on you Stan the Man, I don't even know what that is!" Richie retorts, sounding proud of himself despite only further demonstrating his idiocy.

Stan raises a brow, and Richie swears that expression is  _ smug _ . "An emotional capacity, or a pistachio?"

Richie pauses, because he in fact has no clue what  _ either  _ of those things are, but he's not given a chance to protest before Beverly stands up and walks over to him—

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

It's Eddie who shouts, he thinks, because he squawks in pain at the same time as his head collides with something equally hard.

His knees buckle under him and he cradles his head in his hands. "What the  _ shit _ , Bev, you could'a warned me before you gave me brain damage." He hisses. Eddie groans in agreement somewhere to his left.

"More than you already have?" Stan's cynical remark reaches his ears. He hears who he thinks is Mike unsuccessfully stifle a chuckle.

"Yeah,  _ fuck you _ , Staniel," Richie coughs into the crook of his elbow. He can practically  _ hear _ Stan rolling his eyes.

"They're back alright." Bill says off to the right, and  _ Wait, what? _

Richie brings a hand up to his face, finding a pair of thick framed glasses balanced precariously on the edge of his nose.

Eddie is the first to verbalize his realization. "Holy shit, I can  _ see _ ." He babbles in wonder, then he sees his shoes and glares at Richie.

"You didn't even double knot them? How the fuck did you not trip and die?" His hands move quickly, fingers working to undo the messy knots Richie had made of his shoelaces and starting to tie them into presentable double knots.

Richie lets out a snort, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "You're closer to the ground, Eds. Not like you'd be falling for long before the pavement caught you." He moves his head to dodge the shoe that flies his way.

"I said not to call me that." Eddie pouts, and Richie decides that expression is  _ cute _ , and he's still  _ so fucking screwed _ .

Mike is the first to voice his relief. " _ Finally _ . You guys have no idea how weird it was to hear Eddie making sex jokes about his own mother." He shudders as if horrified, eyes going wide as he reminisces.

Eddie frowns. "Gotta wash my mouth out with soap now to get rid of the trashmouth."

Richie's eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "What're you implying, Eds?"

"Oh God, what now." The shorter boy gives him an exasperated glare.

He smirks. "Well, I wasn't gonna tell them about how I stuck my tongue down your throat, but if you insi—"

Eddie's on his feet and throwing the nearest objects he can reach in seconds. Richie cackles wildly and hides behind the support beams holding their clubhouse up.

Beverly sits and stares in disbelief for a handful of seconds, then laughs until she can’t breathe.

" _ No way _ ." Ben gawks. "There's no way! I swore it would've taken at least three more years!"

"Oh ye of little faith," Bev says between snorts as Ben begrudgingly pulls a small wallet from his pocket.

"Only took you wh-what, a century?" Bill asks, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie pauses his attempted murder to glare heavily at his friend group.

"We didn't—That's not even—WHAT DO YOU MEAN TOOK US A CENTURY?!" He fails to control his volume near the end, causing a chain reaction of laughter among the people in the room.

Stan sighs, wearing his own amused grin despite his calm disposition. "They're probably referring to how long it took you to make out."

"WE DID NO—" "We didn't yet."

Eddie blinks and turns back to Richie, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed.

" _ Yet _ ?" He asks, squinting.

"Yet." Richie replies sunnily, brown eyes twinkling behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

Eddie is silent for a few dangerous seconds, and for one of them Richie actually thinks he's about to be murdered.

But instead, Eddie breathes in and swallows his pride. "Yet," he says in a quiet voice, sitting down in the hammock and swinging gently from left to right.

Nothing else is said on the matter, and really, Richie doesn't think anything needs to be.

-

  
  


_ Saturday; Or, disaster prone teenagers work towards falling in love all over again— this time with less physical abuse. _

Eddie sits with his back pressed against Richie's, eyes skimming over a comic book in his lap. The sound of the other boy breathing is ever so slightly louder than the bird in a tree outside.

"You missed a page, Eds," says Richie, breaking the silence. "Wanna go back and make it dog-eared?"

"Beep beep, Richie." He replies smoothly, coaxing an indignant scoff from the other. "I just wanna save my place."

"So use a  _ bookmark _ ." Richie whines softly. "That's what it's _ for. _ "

"Wow, big word." Eddie deadpans.

"I'm a national treasure," Richie grins.

Eddie feigns shock. "Three eight letter words in one conversation? Who are you and what have you done with Richie?"

The bespectacled boy snorts haughtily, putting on an accent. "Well you see, where I come from we speak with a more  _ refined _ vocabulary. Your commoner ways of speaking disgust me." He twirls his imaginary moustache.

"Did that hurt?" Eddie smiles when Richie—like he knew he would—lets out an offended " _ Hey _ !"

"I know big words!" Richie protests, counting off on his fingers. "Saxophone, dehydration, czechoslovakia, my dick,—"

Eddie shoves a chuckling Richie off the bed.

“You’re  _ so  _ gross. Don’t speak to me or my specially customized fanny pack ever again.” Eddie frowns, though there’s a clear smirk in his voice as Richie laughs harder.

“Whoa Eds, you sure we switched back? That was a fuckin’ hardcore Tozier brand joke.” He speaks finally, pausing to catch his breath between sentences.

Eddie cringes. “I know. You left some of your stupid humor behind and I wasn’t able to wash my mouth out enough.” Richie merely guffaws again, turning around and leaning on the bed, arms folded and propping him up from where he lay on his stomach.

“I could take it back if you want.” He teases, watching in glee as Eddie’s face becomes splotchy with varying levels of blush creeping up all over his freckled face. He makes to grab a pillow, but Richie is faster, ducking off the bed.

He underestimates his own gangly body’s coordination though, and he goes crashing to the floor. Eddie’s first reaction is to huff out a laugh before he clambers down beside him, a look of concern replacing his amusement.

“You okay?” He asks, briefly checking him over for injuries. Richie pouts childishly, kicking off the blanket he’d gotten tangled in sometime during his spectacular fall.

“Nah, I got a painful bruise.”

Eddie’s brows shoot to his hairline as he looks him over again, almost frantic. “Where?”

Richie lays a hand across his forehead dramatically. “My pride.”

Eddie scowls instantly, rolling his eyes. “Too bad it wasn’t your ego.”

“Dunno what you mean,” The boy smiles wide, scrunching up his nose to push his glasses back up. “I’m the fuckin’ humblest man there is, Spaghetti.”

Eddie laughs loud, giving Richie a perfect view of his overjoyed smile.

“If you were humble,” He says between wheezes. “You wouldn’t brag about being the  _ humblest man there is _ .”

“Well I can’t brag about being the cutest.” Richie counters. “You’ve got that one in the bag, Eds.”

Eddie flushes red again and shakes his head, laying flat on his back next to Richie and staring at the glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling. They look a lot lamer in the daylight; A collection of useless, neon stickers.

“I think I like you.” Richie admits, and Eddie’s eyes widen.

Richie wasn’t one for talking about his feelings,  _ especially _ with any of the Losers, so for him to be so open all of a sudden was shocking, to say the least.

He chews his lip.

“I think I might like you too.” Eddie replies, a good deal quieter, but he knows Richie can hear him.

“But you don’t wanna be together.” Richie says what he was thinking, and at this point Eddie would be surprised if he wasn’t secretly telepathic.

He sighs, focusing on one star directly above his head. “Not yet, anyway.”

Richie falls silent.

Then, in a lighter tone. “So then I’ll ask you when we grow up.”

Eddie raises a brow, turning over and resting his head against his arm to face him. “What?”

The taller boy turns his head, a wide grin stretched across his face. “If you still think you like me when we grow up, then I’ll know it’s real. So I’ll ask you then.”

Eddie hums. “You’re surprisingly introspective.”

“I dunno what that means.” Richie quips back.

“You’ll know when you’re older,” Eddie reassures jokingly, watching as Richie swipes hair out of his eyes and adjusts his glasses.

“Then I guess I got a lot to look forward to growin’ up, huh Eds?”

He doesn’t chide him for the nickname. “I guess we do.”


End file.
